


Rubber, Plastic, Metal, Glass

by silentsaebyeok



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Carmen Diaz is an amazing mom and a strong woman, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I decided to be medically accurate even though I know the show won't be because I'm stubborn, Johnny is struggling big time, Johnny loves both of his sons, Mostly hurt with minimal comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, Whump, do not copy to another site, everybody blames themselves, except Hawk because he just wants revenge, minor amounts of canon-typical sexist language, the specter of Robby looms large over this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27538033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaebyeok/pseuds/silentsaebyeok
Summary: He didn’t have a car. He didn’t have a phone. He didn’t have the key to his front door. But it didn’t matter. Because every single one of those things reminded him of the kid he foolishly let into his life. A kid whose life would forever be fucked up because of him.He couldn’t go home. Not without his keys. But he didn’t want to anyway. Carmen’s bloodcurdling scream would haunt him for weeks and months to come. He couldn’t go home when she was next door. When she was next door and Miguel wasn’t.--Or, the aftermath of season two from the perspectives of those who care about Miguel the most.
Relationships: Carmen Diaz & Miguel Diaz (Cobra Kai), Carmen Diaz/Johnny Lawrence, Daniel LaRusso & Johnny Lawrence, Miguel Diaz & Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz, Miguel Diaz & Johnny Lawrence, Miguel Diaz/Samantha LaRusso
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63
Collections: oh YES





	Rubber, Plastic, Metal, Glass

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This fic includes very minor amounts of sexist language that are typical from certain characters in this show. You know the culprits…I imagine that most of you will be fine since I assume you made it through the show if you ended up here in the first place, but I just wanted to cover all my bases just in case. 
> 
> I will also caution that this fic deals with major alcohol abuse, some minor violence, and major use of expletives by Hawk and Johnny. If you do not feel comfortable with any of these topics, consider yourself warned.  
> \--  
> I do not speak Spanish. I did my best to research some natural things Carmen and Rosa would say, both by heavily relying on Google and by re-watching their scenes, but I know I probably messed up. So please, please correct me if anything sounds off or is flat out incorrect! I will edit the fic if stuff is incorrect, so please let me know!  
> \--  
> The title of this fic comes from the lyrics to “Young Hearts” by Commuter.

_Rubber ※ Carmen_

When the phone rang, when she got the call from the school, she felt like she was going to pass out, black out on the living room floor.

It was the first day. The very first day of Miggy’s junior year and the world was crashing down around her. She didn’t know how to process what they were telling her. It felt like they were telling some other kid’s parent and she was just watching the exchange from afar. It felt fake. Like one of those Hallmark movies that ended in tragedy.

Part of her still wondered, all these hours later, if it _was_ fake. If everything that happened was just a figment of her imagination. Just a nightmare. Maybe she would wake up in the morning, refreshed and ready for the day ahead. Maybe Mamá would have _bolón de verde_ cooking on the stove and maybe Miggy would be rushing out the door to catch the bus.

But as she stared down at the light-blue tinted tiles in the family waiting room on the neurosurgery floor, she knew it was real. She knew her worst nightmares had come to fruition.

Because her son, her only child, had a broken neck.

And thinking those words caused a flare of anger to overcome her again. It had the same passion, the same fire as the anger she’d directed at Johnny hours ago.

Because she risked life and limb to come to this country. She gave up everything to give Miggy a better life, a better education and better opportunities. And this was how he repaid her? Like this? When she specifically told him to stay away from the fights and the violence. When she specifically told him he could only continue karate if he promised to use it wisely.

She felt like the worst mother on the planet for directing her anger toward her own kid. But she was filled with so many warring emotions and feelings that sought to suffocate her, to consume her. And if she didn’t do something with them, _anything_ , they would carry her down a path she knew would be dangerous to follow.

A path she would regret.

Sighing and tracing the pattern on her purse with her finger, she realized she didn’t even know the details. She didn’t know what had happened at the school. But at this point, she didn’t really think she ever wanted to. Because she knew enough. She knew a decades-long feud between two grown-ass men was the reason her son may never walk again.

May never wake up again.

_Don’t think like that, Carmen._ She chided herself, taking a few deep breaths and trying to get it together. She couldn’t let her thoughts continue down this dark path. She couldn’t afford to.

It was dark outside, and she was alone. Curled up on one of those uncomfortable, plastic hospital chairs. Thinking. Thinking too much and too deeply. And her spiraling thoughts made her feel like the bowels of her soul had been ripped open and torn from her body. She felt empty and lifeless in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Miggy was in surgery and he would be for hours. But she couldn’t bring herself to go home. She couldn’t leave when her _mijo_ was suffering. She didn’t want him to be alone, even if he would never know the difference.

She didn’t know what time it was, and she didn’t want to look down at her phone. She would have to call her boss eventually, but she was hoping for a little more mental stability before that could happen.

Yet, who was she kidding? Mental stability in a time like this? It would never come.

She wished she hadn’t sent Mamá home. She wished she had made her stay. Even though she looked so stressed and dead on her feet. After all, she had no one else, not after yelling at Johnny like that and metaphorically throwing him to the wolves.

A part of her felt bad about it. About yelling at him. It wasn’t his fault the kids couldn’t work out their issues with each other without the punching and kicking. He couldn’t control their actions or their drama. And Carmen hated to admit it, but he wasn’t the horrible person she had made him out to be the day he brought Miggy home, bruised and bloody, from the Halloween dance.

In fact, that action alone, even though she was loathe to admit it, made her realize that Miggy had been right about him the whole time. She didn’t want to admit he was a good man, a little rough around the edges, but good nonetheless. She didn’t want to face the truth, that he had a good heart, even though his head wasn’t always in the right place.

She was too angry to admit those things. Too upset and too emotional. But she couldn’t deny that he was kind to her. That their date was the best date she had been on in a very, very long time. Maybe ever.

Or maybe she was just a horrible judge of character. The way she always was.

Maybe it was better to cut Johnny from their lives. As a mother, it was her gut instinct to do so. It was what her heart really wanted. But her head wasn’t so sure.

Because if she did sever connections, if they up and moved to a different city, or even a different state, it might shatter Miggy. It might tear him apart even further.

She wasn’t blind. She noticed how his eyes lit up when he talked about karate, about his lessons with Johnny and the mentorship the two of them had built.

Carmen rubbed at her temples. She didn’t know what to do. Every decision felt like the wrong one, and every path felt like it would lead to further misery.

How was she going to get through this? What was she going to do?

She felt like she was suffocating. Sitting in the deserted and overly clean hallway. The world felt like it was crashing down around her. Everything felt wrong. Slimy and sick.

The creeping tendrils of a panic attack were beginning to engulf her. It felt like the beginning of the worst one she’d had in years. It felt similar to the absolute fear and uncertainty she felt escaping Ecuador all those years ago.

And—and how was she going to pay for all this? For any of it?

Was she a horrible mother for letting herself think about that right now? Should she instead be worrying about the risks of the surgery and her son’s emotional state when he realized his life would forever be different?

But the thoughts pushed themselves to the front of her mind. Because she had to think about it. Because she didn’t have health insurance. She didn’t have health insurance which meant that her Miggy didn’t have health insurance either.

The three of them lived off one income. Her income. They barely made ends meet as it was. But with this…what was she going to do?

And it wasn’t just the ER and ambulance fees. As someone in the medical field, she knew this would be a long, long road. A road filled with doctors appointments and surgeries she couldn’t afford and occupational therapy sessions she didn’t want to see Miggy struggle through.

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was heaving painfully, and it felt as if her lungs were caught in a vice-like grip, as if the whole world was standing on her chest, looking down at her. Judging her for being such a horrible, neglectful mother.

She really hated Johnny. At least, in this moment she hated him. She had to make herself hate him. 

And it might not last, but she needed to direct her anger somewhere or she would burst. Shatter into a million tiny, little pieces. She had to let the fire of regret, resentment and blame wash over her.

Because if she didn’t, the vicious thoughts of self-blame and self-hatred would dominate. Take over. Win the fight.

And that would destroy her.

And if she was destroyed, if she was as fickle and soft as a thin sheet of rubber, being there for her son would be out of the equation.

And—and would Miguel ever be able to take care of himself? Or would he need someone with him twenty-four-seven? And if that was the case, she didn’t know how she would live with the guilt.

She didn’t even know how bad it was yet. She didn’t even know if he would pull through. If he would wake up. These kinds of injuries had so many complications. So many. Sometimes, patients could never talk again. Never breathe on their own again. Sometimes, family members just had to pull the plug.

In that moment, she hated that she’d chosen to become an x-ray technician. Literally anything else would be better than seeing that x-ray of Miggy’s neck scarred behind her eyelids forever. One look and she knew instantly how bad it was. Because she had never heard of anyone who fractured C5 to C7 recovering and living a normal life.

No one.

So how would Miguel be any different?

She would have to pray. That was the only choice. She had to pray for a miracle.

It was her fault. All her fault. After that Halloween dance, she should have never let Miggy go back to class. She should have forced her son away from Johnny then and there. If she had done that, if she had followed her gut, none of this would have ever happened.

She felt like a horrible mother. Like the world’s worst mother. If the authorities took her away, if they accused her of child neglect, of allowing her kid to be taught and mentored by such a sketchy guy just because she was trying to put food on the table, she didn’t even think she would have the heart to protest.

Because they were probably right. They had to be right.

This was all her fault.

How would she get through this? How would _they_ get through this?

It was something she didn’t even want to think about anymore.

She couldn’t.

\--

Her eyes were bloodshot. She felt like she was going to kneel over on the cold linoleum floor at any second. But she had to stay awake. Because they were going to let her see Miggy soon.

For real this time. Not just through the window. Carmen would get to go in his room and hold his hand, kiss his forehead and tell her little _mijo_ how much she loved him.

It had been over twenty-four hours and she hadn’t left the hospital, and she hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight. Little did she know that she would end up right back at work after her shift was over. Little did she think she would be waiting anxiously for results that would be hard to stomach no matter how gently she was told the truth. No matter how gently the doctors and nurses tried to cushion her fall.

_Her fall._ Carmen scoffed even though there was no one around to hear it. Why did her brain have to go there of all places? Mocking and sardonic, maybe even a little masochistic.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rein in her emotions. They were all over the place. She needed to get ahold of herself. She needed to be strong. Miggy didn’t need someone who was a crying and blubbering mess. He needed someone to look him in the eyes and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even—even if that was nowhere near the truth. 

In the past twenty-four hours, she had barely left the chair she decided was her impermanent home. Mamá came and went, bringing her food and snacks, even going home for a few hours to get some sleep. Truth be told, Carmen didn’t know how Mamá was keeping it together when she felt like she was breaking inside. Perhaps it came with age, or perhaps it came with making it through all the horrible things she endured in Ecuador.

Then what was her excuse? She was there too. In Ecuador. She left, just the same as Mamá, to get away from the poverty, the corruption, the violence…to get away from her horrible, abusive husband.

Maybe it was just different. Being the mother. Maybe that was why.

She had always been over-protective of Miggy. Always. And leaving Riverside and moving to Reseda just seemed to compound that motherly nature of hers. It seemed to make it worse. Because she knew. She always knew. From the moment they moved here, she knew Miggy didn’t fit in. Maybe she should have done more research. Maybe she should have moved them to an area with less income disparity, with less of a divide between the rich and the poor. Who made the school boundaries anyway? Who decided that kids from Reseda should go to school with kids from Encino?

The school board was just asking for something like this to happen with that kind of set up.

She was spiraling again. She was worrying about things she couldn’t control. She needed to stop it. Put an end to such thoughts.

Luckily, she didn’t have to put in the effort, because the next thing she knew, there was someone in blue scrubs standing in front of her.

And as she looked up and met the eyes of the man in front of her, she was asked a question.

“Are you Ms. Diaz?”

“Y-yes.” She answered, a lump forming in her throat.

“Come with me.” The man said, gesturing for her to stand. 

And as she began following him from the waiting room and into the bowels of the hospital, it occurred to her that she didn’t know where this man was taking her. Would she get to see Miggy yet? Or were they going to ask her more questions, interrogate her about the sixteen-year medical history of her son. Every vaccine, every ailment, every asthma attack.

She didn’t want to dance that dance again. How was she supposed to remember all those things when her son was in surgery? When he was fighting for his life.

Her heart sank when they brought her into a conference room, much like the one she’d been in hours previous. They really were going to ask her more questions.

“Ms. Diaz.” Another man said, getting up from his place at the conference table and holding out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Dr. Pershing, head of the medical team that is taking care of your son.”

_Medical team. Medical team._ Because this was serious. This wasn’t a one-and-done surgery for a broken radius or ulna, this was life and death. This was months and months cooped up in some hospital or care facility. She knew too much about medicine to be that naïve.

This was life altering.

She felt sick. Like her legs would give out underneath her at any moment. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

And it was only day one. _Day one._

Somehow, she found herself sitting across from this Dr. Pershing, waiting for him to speak. To tell her all the things she already knew from looking at that x-ray. To tell her all the things she didn’t want to hear.

“Well,” the man began, “would you like me to start with the good news or the bad news?”

Carmen couldn’t take this anymore. She couldn’t. “It’s all bad news.” She snapped, causing the others at the table to raise their eyebrows. “I’m an x-ray tech. I saw—I saw what Miggy’s neck looked like. I know it’s all bad news.”

A heavy, tense pause came over the room when she fell silent. And Carmen belatedly realized nobody must have expected an outburst like that.

“Bad is relative, Ms. Diaz.” The doctor said awkwardly, looking for all the world like he was completely out of his element. “Your son is extremely lucky in quite a few ways. Now, if you would like to go over the details, I would be happy to.”

“Carmen. Please call me Carmen.” She took a few deep breaths at that. Trying to find her center. Her balance. Like she was at one of those yoga classes she took a few years back. “And—and I’m ready.”

“You sure?” Dr. Pershing asked, suddenly finding a way to sound compassionate.

“Just—let’s get it over with.”

And after taking a moment to glace nervously at his colleagues, the doctor started into his spiel. “Well, as you are aware, Miguel fractured his C5, C6 and C7 cervical vertebrae. Surgery was performed to stabilize and immobilize the neck and assess the status of the spinal cord. From the surgery, we were able to determine that Miguel’s spinal cord has been bruised, but it was not punctured or severed by the broken bones. This is very lucky and extremely reassuring.”

Carmen didn’t want to say anything. She didn’t want to tell the doctors she had been obsessively googling cervical spinal cord injuries in the waiting room. She didn’t want to tell them she had only stopped when she learned that even bruised spinal cords were life threatening almost impossible to completely recover from at the cervical level.

Because that was when Mamá found her crying into her purse to muffle the sound. That was when she couldn’t breathe until Mamá forced her to take the Xanax the doctor in Riverside had prescribed her when she was having nightmares about escaping Ecuador. 

“The level of recovery each patient exhibits depends largely on their level of function, and progress, shown during their first two weeks post-injury, as well as the amount of effort they put into rehabilitation.” Dr. Pershing droned on, seemingly unaware of the battle going on inside her head. “And I am pleased to announce that Miguel’s post-op functionality test has gone extremely well.”

And maybe it had gone very well for a doctor who saw the results of these injuries every day, but how about a mother? A mother that never thought, in a million years, that she would have to be in this position. Because she had a feeling success meant something different to her than it did to Dr. Pershing.

“What does extremely well mean?” She asked, sounding a little short, even to herself.

“Well, from the test, we were able to ascertain a classification. Under the ASIA Impairment Scale, which has five levels, A being the most severely impaired and E being the least, your son has fallen under category D. This is extremely good news because if the patient shows improvement in their first two weeks, they can often move up a scale, causing the effects of their injury to lessen with time and physical therapy. And the fact that Miguel is young, and already in category D despite bruising his spinal cord at the cervical level means that my colleagues and I are very hopeful for a future where your son can walk again.”

“Walk?” She asked, not believing her ears. “Without help?”

Dr. Pershing sucked in a breath. “That,” he began, “we aren’t sure of. If his injury was not at the cervical level, the results would be more clear-cut, but because his injury is at the top of the spine, there are a lot more risks and complications.”

She knew there was a catch. She knew this wouldn’t be straightforward and obvious. After all, she didn’t spend hours in the waiting room reading about these injuries for nothing.

Sometimes cynicism was a blessing. 

But Carmen felt like she was at war with herself. With her head. Because this was good news, objectively speaking. It could even be classified as _very good_ news. But it was hard to believe. It was hard to have faith in these people—these doctors—until she could see the results herself. It was hard to trust anyone when she couldn’t even trust the process. When she couldn’t trust herself.

“Are you okay, Ms. Diaz?” Dr. Pershing asked, cutting into her wandering thoughts.

And it wasn’t until that moment that she realized she was crying hot, heavy tears. Ugly tears and ugly sobs. She couldn’t understand what emotions she was feeling. Was she feeling sadness? Relief? Pain?

She didn’t know, and she couldn’t figure it out. She couldn’t figure herself out.

“I don’t know.” She finally said, sucking in breaths between sobs.

And she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she would ever be the same again.

\--

She didn’t think she would be scared to enter Miggy’s ICU room until the moment she stepped up to the threshold. It wasn’t until then that the longing, and the desperation to see her son disappeared, instead replacing itself with a cold thrum of fear that was beating in time with her heart.

There was a nurse standing with her, the one that led her to the room in the first place, probably wondering why she was hesitating. Why she was such a coward.

But she was scared. Miggy’s medical team had explained to her what she would see, but she didn’t want to see it. She just wanted it to go away. She just wanted to pretend none of this ever happened. She just wanted to sit in her denial.

The nurse finally pushed the door open and stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow him. Figuring it was now or never, Carmen took a deep breath, clasped the handles of her purse tightly, and followed the man inside.

It was quiet. The hum of machines and the muffled beep of a heart monitor were the only sounds occupying the room. Her silent wish to hear Miggy’s soft snoring was left ungranted. And despite pleading for it, she knew it wouldn’t come.

Because they had him in an induced coma. Hooked up to a ventilator. Apparently, this was common for cervical spinal injuries after testing the patient’s level of function. Because sometimes patients stopped breathing if their brain couldn’t receive the messages. This way, even with less severe cases like Miguel’s, the body could get some rest from the trauma it endured.

It was one of those scary things she had read in the waiting room. One of those things she couldn’t figure out how to emotionally understand.

She walked up to the side of the bed then, forcing herself to look down at her son. But it was hard. Hard to keep her eyes on his face. Hard to find the life inside of him. Because Miggy was always full of energy, always excited about something and always moving. He’d never been the kind of kid who could sit still for long.

It made it hurt to see him like this all the more. It made her chest ache and her eyes water, vision swimming as she grasped his hand in her own, squeezing it around the O2 sensor.

“ _Oh, mi pobrecito_.” She said, sinking into the chair that was positioned behind her by the nurse. “How did this happen? How did I let this happen to you, _mijo_?”

And as she truly began to take in his appearance, his face marred with cuts and bruises and a black eye, swollen with a line of stitches above his left eyebrow, she felt the blame seep back in. She felt it force itself upon her and drag her down. Take her below. Take her to hell.

She could barely see his face behind all the medical equipment. Under all the wires and machines. Under the intubation tube that seemed like it was taking up his whole face. But all of that paled in comparison to the alarming and intimidating contraption that was attached to his upper torso and head. It was a halo brace. The kind she knew some of the patients she’d x-rayed in the past would have to wear. But she never thought in a million years she would see her own son in one. She knew what they did to get those to stay on. She knew they had to drill pins into the patient’s skull to keep the neck from moving.

Carmen shuddered involuntarily at that, even though it was never something that bothered her before.

But now it was on Miggy. Her _mijo_. That made it different. Completely different.

“I called your _yaya_.” She whispered, deciding she would continue to talk to him. Even if he couldn’t hear her. “She’s been resting at home, but she’s on her way here right now. We’ll look after you Miggy. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to lie, what possessed her to feign ignorance and pretend things could go back to the way they were, but she did know she had to make herself pretend.

Just for a little longer.

Because if she didn’t, she would cry again. She would cry those same, heavy tears she cried in the meeting with Dr. Pershing.

She ran a comforting hand up and down his arm, wishing she could hold him. Wishing she could give him the biggest hug she was capable of. “ _Te amo mi pobrecito_. I’ll be here for you every step of the way, okay? And your _yaya_ will too. I love you, Miggy. I love you so, so much.”

With that, she knew it was time to go. She knew it was time to get some sleep. There was no use in waiting around when Miggy wasn’t going to wake up any time soon.

And after kissing the top of his hand and looking down at him with tears in her eyes, she slipped out the door.

* * *

_Plastic ※ Hawk_

He didn’t want to leave the dojo.

It was the only place where things made sense anymore. It was the only place where he felt like himself. It was the only place where he could let out his frustrations in the only way that really worked.

Only through the way of the fist.

But he didn’t want to leave, even though class was over. Because if he went home, he’d have to face his mom. He’d have to tolerate her stifling fussing over him and her watchful and critical eye. He would have to listen to his dad go off about his suspension from school again.

He would have to pretend he couldn’t hear his parents arguing about pulling him out of karate all together. About making him leave Cobra Kai.

But even worse, he would be left with his thoughts. With the reminders. Because they were there every time he opened his fucking phone.

Hawk curled his fingers around his bag, clenching the strap so tightly that his knuckles turned pasty white. He couldn’t deny that he was filled with an indescribable rage so strong that it would cause him to do something stupid if he wasn’t careful.

Because at this moment, he wanted revenge more than anything in the world. He wanted to beat Demetri senseless, put him in his place. Make him understand who was really in charge. But more importantly, and more recklessly—more troublingly—he wanted to kill Robby Keene. He wanted to watch him bleed out. And he wanted it to happen on the pavement in front of the hospital with Sensei Lawrence watching.

But he had to restrain himself. Because no matter how he felt, he knew it was wrong. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t what Miguel would want.

Hawk sighed and unclenched his fist, trying to reign in his emotions. He didn’t know how to deal with this, not when Miguel wasn’t around to talk to. Because Miguel always knew how to talk him down when he was teetering on the edge. He always knew what to do and what to say.

Because Miguel was like the older brother he never had. The only person to ever truly believe in him. The only person to try and understand him when no one else would.

And losing that…well…he didn’t know what he would do.

Or what he would become.

He needed to get home. He needed to get home and push all these stupid feelings and shit aside. His parents would wonder where he was if he came home late, and with the suspension and everything else, if he broke the rules now, he was positive his mom would talk his dad into making him quit karate.

And with Miguel in this situation…he couldn’t lose the last thing worth living for.

But as he stood and made his way toward the front door of the dojo, a voice called out, stopping him.

“Wait a moment, Hawk.” Sensei Kreese said. “I would like to talk to you.”

Hawk turned around, belatedly realizing he was the only student left in the building. “Yes, Sensei?” He asked, hesitantly. 

Sensei Kreese stepped towards him. “Your anger. I can feel it.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was always at least a little bit angry. It was always there, simmering below the surface until it reared its ugly head. And Sensei Kreese knew it. He had nothing to hide from him.

“You can use that to your advantage, you know.” The man continued, seemingly unaware of his confusion. “You have the potential to become a ruthless warrior. A potential that far out-ranks any other student in this dojo.”

Hawk was seething. What was the point of bringing up potential in a time like this? “Yeah? Well, I could have stayed as second best if Miguel was still…”

A tense silence overtook the room for a few brief moments as he trailed off.

“My dear boy.” Sensei Kreese said, coming to his side and putting an arm around his shoulders. “You want to know the truth?”

Hawk nodded. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Because he felt trapped. 

Sensei Kreese smiled. “You’ve always had more potential than Mr. Diaz. His loyalties were never in the right places. He cared too much about people. He asked too many questions. And, of course, he never had the passion or the _anger_ you have.”

Hawk didn’t know what to say about that. Because a part of him liked the praise. Praise that was so rare. Praise that he rarely ever got from somebody who wasn’t his mom. But another part of him just felt weird. Weird because Sensei Kreese was talking about Miguel in the past tense, because he was acting like his best friend had been written off the books. Because he was acting like Miguel would never do karate again.

And with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Hawk realized that might even be true.

“It’s such a pity that Sensei Lawrence couldn’t see that.” Sensei Kreese rambled on, forcing Hawk out of his thoughts. “He became too blinded by some sort of fatherly charity project. Because he is weak. Because he couldn’t find the balls to be a father to his _own_ son.”

Hawk watched as Sensei Kreese paced the room, a hand on his chin. Thinking. Planning. Plotting.

“Skill? Talent? Mr. Diaz may have been well equipped in those areas, but neither of those things really matter. All that matters is following those three rules over there.” His master said, pointing to the wall.

Hawk followed the gesture with his eyes, staring at the motto on the wall in front of him. Staring at the black letters on white paint.

_Strike First,_

_Strike Hard,_

_No Mercy._

The last line, the last tenet of the Cobra Kai creed, stood out to him. It was as clear as day.

_No Mercy._

He was suddenly filled with a simmering, smoldering rage. A rage and a desire to do _something_. Something that would make Keene pay for what he did. No mercy. Not anymore, not ever. Because the fucked-up idea of mercy was what got Miguel into this situation in the first place. Because he believed Sensei Lawrence’s bullshit, pussy teachings and paid the price for it.

It made him mad. Mad at Keene, mad at Sensei Lawrence. Mad at the world.

“Mr. Diaz is gravely injured because he showed mercy.” Sensei Kreese continued, unaware of his train of thought. “You know this. I know you know this because you said as much yourself to Sensei Lawrence yesterday. But enough with the talk, now is the time to act on it. To put what you’ve learned into practice. Mr. Diaz is your friend. You want to avenge him, don’t you?”

“Sensei, I—” Hawk began, cutting himself off.

Because of course he wanted to avenge Miguel. Of course he did. But he didn’t know if it was what Miguel wanted him to do.

“Don’t you?” Sensei Kreese said sternly, an admonishing look on his face.

Hawk gulped. There was no other way. “Yes, Sensei.”

His master smiled crookedly, a look of pure joy on his face. “Get to your feet. I’m going to teach you what no mercy _truly_ means.”

Hawk stood, stretching out his limbs and cracking his knuckles. His curfew was forgotten. Forgotten because it was time to punch and kick, time to get lost in drills and force thoughts of his best friend from his mind.

At least, that’s what he thought would happen, until he heard the words that came out of Sensei Kreese’s mouth next. 

“Strike me.” The man said, that cocky grin still on his face. “As hard as you can.”

Hawk froze. He was taken completely aback. “Where?” He stuttered. “What technique do you want me to use?” 

Sensei Kreese sucked in a sharp breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “When you are in a fight, do you want your opponent to know what you are going to do?”

Hawk shook his head. “No, Sensei.”

“Then act like it! Act like this is a fight. Put your heart into it and give it all you’ve got.”

Something about this wasn’t right. He could feel it. But he also couldn’t say no. Because the thought of throwing punches that hit real flesh and bones—not some stupid mannequin—was just too enticing. Because after seeing Keene kick Miguel over that balcony, after hearing the crunch of bone when he hit the railing, it was all he thought about. It was all he _really_ wanted to do.

So he clenched his fists, got into a fighting stance, and threw the hardest punch he was capable of.

His fist immediately connected with Sensei Kreese’s nose and he felt the crunch of bone under his hand. Warm blood immediately gushed from the man’s face and spilled over his outstretched fingers.

He looked up at Sensei Kreese in utter astonishment as fear pulsed through his veins. He was dead meat for doing breaking his Sensei’s nose. Dead meat.

And why didn’t he block it? Why did he just stand there?

“Do it again.” Sensei Kreese said, wiping some of the continuously gushing blood from his face.

Hawk recoiled. “What?”

Somehow, Sensei Kreese was still smiling. “Do it. Hit me again. Broken bones don’t mean jack shit, Hawk. The fight is over _only_ when you say it is.”

“But Sensei, your nose…”

“My nose will be fine after I set it.” The man said flippantly. “What matters is you learn how to use your anger.”

“But—”

“Pretend like I’m Keene.”

“What?!” Hawk stuttered, his thoughts blanking out and filling with emptiness.

“Do it. Let your frustration out. I’ll be okay. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

And suddenly his thoughts were whirling, coming back to him at the speed of light. Because none of this made sense. Sensei Kreese was tough, but he never went this far, he never asked this much of his students. And it just felt _off_. Not right. Was this what Miguel wanted? Was revenge the right answer?

And then Sensei Kreese was up in his face, the blood from his nose dripping onto his white practice _gi_. “Do you want to be the best?” His master ground out, eyes flashing with intensity and anger. “Do you want to defend yourself from the likes of Keene?”

Hawk didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He felt backed into a corner.

But he was ready to fight his way out.

“Yes, Sensei!” He yelled, sweeping the man’s leg out from underneath him and socking him in the jaw.

Sensei wasn’t even fighting back. He didn’t throw a single punch. But it didn’t matter because suddenly the man in front of him was Robby Keene and all the unbridled rage he’d been feeling for the last two days came out in full force.

Hawk was throwing punch after punch after punch. His whole body was numb, and his mind was blank. Nothing mattered but getting revenge. Nothing could be fixed until Keene felt at least half of what Miguel was going through. Nothing mattered until he felt like he did what was best for the only person who treated him like an equal. Like a friend.

Eventually he ran out of breath. Eventually he found himself panting and sweating on the floor of the dojo, trying to get his bearings.

He heard a broken sounding chuckle come from the right and he turned his head, finding Sensei Kreese sprawled out on the floor beside him. It took him a moment to take in his face and his body, beaten to shit, blood and bruises and broken bones.

And then a fear came over him. Because he did that. Him. Hawk.

And it wasn’t even Robby Keene.

Sensei Kreese let out another soft chuckle, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Good job, kid. You did well. I knew you had it in you.”

Hawk sprung to his feet, staggering away from his master. He could feel his whole body shaking. He could feel the blood dripping from his hands. He was a monster. Something inside him—something feral—had been unleashed. Something terrible and sick.

And in that moment, he knew there was no going back.

* * *

_Metal ※ Samantha_

The house felt empty without Robby.

It was an emptiness that felt so hollowed out and cold, the result of the warm bodies in the house decreasing from five to four.

All his stuff was still here. Still in the dojo. Still scattered around in the strangest and most unexpected places. If things had been different, if it was one week in the past, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it. She wouldn’t have looked at a discarded jacket thrown haphazardly on a living room chair with such a feeling of dread, of fear and of deep, deep regret.

Because everything was her fault. And she wouldn’t let herself pretend anymore. She wouldn’t let herself justify her actions. She couldn’t. Because there was absolutely nothing left to justify.

It was just her. Just Samantha LaRusso. Just scars and regret.

She had only been home from the hospital for two days. But those two days had been torture beyond anything Tory could have ever done to her. Because she just had to sit in the memories. Just lap them up like a dog’s tongue in a water dish. Because reminders of her failures, of her idiocy and of her pettiness were all around her.

She didn’t even want to think about the elephant in the room. She didn’t even want to say the elephant’s name.

Because it just hurt. It was all her fault.

She’d been having nightmares, waking in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf. The image was always behind her eyes. Of Miguel falling. Always lurking in the empty spaces in her mind. Because she couldn’t feel anymore. Everything felt numb. Everything felt empty. And she desperately wished to forget.

And the worst part was she couldn’t tell anybody about them. She wouldn’t let herself. Dad didn’t need to know anyway. He was dealing with his own demons.

Demons she created.

She just needed to stop thinking. Clear her mind. Breathe in and breathe out. She knew this stuff. She knew how to meditate ever since Uncle Miyagi taught her back in elementary school.

But it didn’t work. Because thinking of Uncle Miyagi brought back a sense of longing that she thought had long passed. He died when she was only nine, and therefore only knew him through the eyes of a child, but she missed him deeply in this moment. She wished he were here.

And Samantha wondered, maybe for the first time, what he would think of this mess. Would he be upset? Disappointed? Or would he shake his head and mumble along the way he did when Dad got into an argument with him?

She didn’t know.

And perhaps that was for the best.

After a blissful moment of mental silence, her eyes wandered to the top shelf of her bookcase. To stare at Señor Octopus. To torture herself. To memorize the purple and red pattern on his stuffed façade, to look as he took up the whole shelf, taunting her with his larger than life appearance. And ever since coming home from the hospital, she kept on staring. Because he was right in her line of vision. Right across from the bed she’d been ordered to stay in until her ribs healed.

The fact that she never got rid of him, disposed of him or stuffed him in a box said everything. Said something that, at the time, she didn’t even want to believe herself. Because even when Robby moved in, even when she’d hidden the pictures from the photo booth away from sight—tucked safely and neatly in a drawer—she couldn’t displace Señor Octopus. She couldn’t force him into a box because it felt like she would be forcing something out of her life that she just couldn’t let go of.

Even now.

She had to face the music. Today. She had to do it today. She had to force herself to reconcile with the fact that she never got over Miguel.

And now…and now he was lying in a hospital bed, knocking on death’s door, because of her grave, reckless, and flat-out stupid mistakes. Because she refused to move on, even when she was the one to close the book on their relationship in the first place.

It was something she hadn’t seen at the time, but it was painfully apparent to her now.

Because everything was her fault. Every damn thing.

And Miguel…he might—his life might never be the same again.

And Robby…how was _he_ the one who did it? How? She still couldn’t wrap her head around that. No matter how much she thought about it. No matter how much she wallowed in it. It didn’t make sense. Robby wasn’t like that. He wasn’t vindictive. He wasn’t a bad person.

But how could he have done that? He lashed out. She saw it with her own eyes.

Nothing in her life made sense anymore. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit together. The perfectly choreographed, rich Encino kid life she’d been living up to this point suddenly felt fake. Like it wasn’t a part of her anymore. She felt like a fraud in her own skin.

And the worst part was, she didn’t know how she was going to deal with the consequences. She didn’t know how she was going to live with herself after all of this. After everything had come crashing down around her.

Her chest clenched painfully. It wasn’t from her broken ribs.

It was from the fear, the anxiety and the regret.

So much regret. Her whole life was regret, at least, it felt that way. She wasn’t breathing right, and her stomach was tied into knots. She felt like she was going to throw up even though she couldn’t even remember the last time she ate something substantial.

Because Robby was going to juvie. Because Miguel was—he was—

She couldn’t even bring herself to think the words.

Facing the truth was an insurmountable and impossible task.

And maybe that was her greatest failure in life. Maybe ignoring the truth. Maybe disregarding what was right in front of her. Maybe that was the reason for all of this. Was the reason the world had come crashing down around her in the span of minutes.

She suddenly wanted her pain pills the doctors had sent her home with. Because they made her forget. They let her fall into a dreamless, painless sleep. And if she was asleep, it would give her time. Time to put distance between herself and the events that transpired.

But what she really wanted was to rewind. To go back. To fix everything before it happened.

But that was impossible.

So she just had to learn to live with it. With all of it.

A soft knock on her bedroom door pulled her away from her morose train of thought, and she looked up from her lap to see Dad poking his head in to check on her.

“You doing okay, Sam?” He asked, concern dipping from his voice.

And she hated the way the question sounded. She hated to see the pity in Dad’s eyes. The grief. Because her actions hurt him too. And ever since everything went down, it seemed as if her whole family was walking on eggshells around her. Babying her. Inspecting her like she was under a microscope.

Even her friends had been acting weird. She almost wished her parents had taken away her phone, because Sam didn’t think she could take the sympathetic texts and social media posts any longer. If she had to see one more tagged video of the fight on Instagram, if she had to get one more message asking about Robby or Miguel from a kid she barely knew, she might break her phone herself.

After all, watching Miguel fall from twenty different angles was already enough to make her feel like she was going absolutely insane.

“I’m fine, Dad.” She finally said, not looking him in the eye.

A tense air came over the room, and Sam swore she could feel the incredulous look that must have been on Dad’s face as he sat on the edge of her bed.

“No, you’re not.” He said, putting a comforting hand over one of her own.

She had to stop herself from pulling her hand away. She had to keep it together. “It’s just…it’s all my fault. All of it. And Dad? I don’t want you to make excuses for me anymore. Because I caused this. And I need you to understand that.”

A short pause fell over the room and Dad narrowed his eyes at her. “Sam, now’s not the time for blame, okay? Not when you have stitches and broken ribs.”

Sam scoffed. “Oh, yeah? When is the time then, huh? When Miguel dies? Is that when?”

“He’s not gonna die, Sweety.”

“How do you know? You didn’t see him fall like twenty feet! You didn’t hear what it sounded like when he hit the railing! You didn’t see Robby—” Sam inhaled, cutting herself off.

And the tension that hung over the room felt like it could be cut with a knife. Because it was deeper, more intense than before. Just because she brought up the one thing she knew Dad didn’t want to talk about.

Dad sighed deeply, and Sam could see the hurt he was trying to hide. “You know…I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past few days. Trying to figure out where it all went wrong.”

She bit her tongue. She knew where it all went wrong. She knew what moment changed everything. But despite the vulnerability she had just shown, she wasn’t about to cough up the details.

“And I’ve been thinking a lot about this time I really screwed things up.” Dad continued. “I wasn’t much older than you.”

“What happened?” Sam asked. She wasn’t really interested, but the silence was worse, so she had to say something. 

“Well, you already know part of the story.” Dad began. “I joined Cobra Kai and it made me violent. Quick to jump into a fight. I took this girl out during that time. Her name was Jessica. I think I was more into her than she was into me…Anyway, we went to this dance club and some guy tried to get all handsy with her. So what did I do? Well, instead of talking it out, I punched the guy as hard as I could. Right in the face.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dad punching someone over a girl? He definitely hadn’t told her this before.

But as she turned to look at Dad when the silence went on for too long, she noticed he was hesitating. “Then what happened?” She asked, finding herself already invested despite her previous reservations.

Dad sucked in a sharp breath. “I broke his nose, Sam. There was blood everywhere. All over me, all over Jessica, and of course all over the guy. The whole thing freaked me out so bad that I ended up going straight to Mr. Miyagi and confessing everything. I told him I went behind his back and joined Cobra Kai, I told him I was training for the tournament, and I told him I broke the guy’s nose. And you know what he did?”

Sam shook her head.

“He took me to the backyard where he was caring for this bonsai tree that had been exposed to salt water and had its trunk broken—which I was responsible for, by the way—and up until that point, I didn’t know if the tree was gonna make it. But he took me around back and showed it to me. It was doing well. It was gonna be okay. And at that moment, he said something to me that I’ll never forget.”

It was at that moment that an intensity came over Dad that she had never seen before. There was a sharp, earnest glint in his eyes as he stared her down. As he looked into her soul. “This tree is gonna make it because it has strong roots. Just like you, Sam. Because inside you have strong roots, and you don’t need anything except what’s inside you to grow. Do you understand?”

Sam took a moment to mull over his words, to let herself digest them. Because this was important to Dad. And if it was important to Dad, then it was important to her. “Yeah. I think so.” She said hesitantly. “But it doesn’t change what happened.”

Dad frowned, looking pained once again. “No, it doesn’t. But it can change how you react in the future. It can change what kind of choices you make; how you live your life.”

Sam found herself nodding. She did need to make some changes and she knew it. Things would never be fixed if she didn’t force herself to change. If she didn’t force herself to apologize. If she didn’t force herself to start over.

“Eventually we took the bonsai back to the wild where it originally came from.” Dad continued. “And when we were re-planting it, Mr. Miyagi told me that from now on, the tree will choose how it grows. So, Sam?” He said, looking at her with that sharp, intense look again. “Now’s the time you get to choose how you grow. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad.” She croaked out, feeling herself begin to get choked up. She felt so empty and so full at the same time. Because somehow, Dad knew just what she needed, even when she hadn’t realized it herself.

But as Dad gently patted her leg and stood to leave the room, a sudden thought came to her mind. It was one she had been thinking about for the past two days. But she’d kept it hidden in the back of her head. In a place where she could tuck it away. 

In a place where she didn’t have to confront it.

But if she wanted to make some changes, she needed to confront it. And this was the place to start.

“Hey. Uh, Dad?”

“Yeah, Sweetie?” Dad asked, turning back around to look at her. 

She took a deep breath, looking at her lap and picking at a stray thread. “Do you um…do you know how Miguel’s family is going to pay for everything? You know, with the hospital and all?”

“No, Sam, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

The confusion in Dad’s voice made her look up and she was surprised to find a matching expression on his face. And it wasn’t until that moment that she realized Dad didn’t know anything about Miguel other than his place as a student in Cobra Kai. He didn’t know about his family, about how kindhearted he was, and he didn’t know about his economic background. 

“He lives in a really poor area of Reseda…I don’t think his family will be able to afford the hospital bills. And—and that’s not fair to them. Because this is my fault.” She croaked out, looking back down at her lap.

Dad took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed again. “Reseda, huh?”

“Yeah.” Sam gulped, realizing the next part of the conversation could cause Dad to go berserk if she wasn’t careful. “It’s this old, run down apartment complex. Actually, it’s the same one Robby’s dad lives in. Miguel lives right next door. Maybe you could talk to Mr. Lawrence? I think he knows Miguel’s family pretty well. That way you could figure out how to contact his mom and stuff.”

“What are you saying, Sam?”

She looked Dad in the eyes even though she didn’t want to. It was the only way to get her point across. The only way to make him understand. “I’m saying I want to pay. This happened because of me, and I need to fix it as best I can. You choose how you grow, right?”

The look on Dad’s face morphed from stress to pity in the span of seconds. “Sweety, I don’t think you understand how much these things cost, and you don’t make any money. You’re a kid.”

“I know, Dad!” She all but yelled. “I’ll get a job. I’ll get two jobs. I have to do this, okay? I have to make it right.”

Dad sighed, looking as if he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’ll tell you what, kiddo. You come get a part-time job at the dealership, save up the money for Miguel, and I’ll make up the difference, okay? Otherwise, you’ll never pay the bills off. This stuff is really expensive.”

Sam sighed, realizing this was the only way to make Dad concede. “Okay. I think that can work.”

“I know it can work, Sam. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. I’ve seen it happen.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Sam said, forcing a small, broken smile onto her face. “You’ll talk to Mr. Lawrence?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him.” He said hesitantly.

And Sam didn’t miss the momentarily stressed look that took over his face.

“Promise?” She asked.

“Promise.” 

* * *

_Glass ※ Johnny_

He was slipping backwards. Backwards into habits he thought were behind him. He felt like he was going a million miles an hour, and he knew sooner or later he would crash into the metaphorical oncoming traffic and disappear from his measly existence.

His life was out of control and he couldn’t hit the brakes.

Johnny didn’t know what number of beer he was on, but he did know he’d gone back to the shop around the corner several times for more.

Good thing he hadn’t ditched his wallet.

He wanted to get black out drunk. He wanted to pass out in the disgusting little alley he’d planted himself in and forget any of this ever happened. He wanted erase every moment from the past year from his memory and start all over.

Start over in a world where he wasn’t responsible for a bunch of shithead teenagers. A world where he could keep his failures to himself instead of passing them onto the next generation. He should have never been allowed to teach kids to fight, even if they were losers and rejects. It wasn’t the place of someone like him.

Johnny took another big gulp of his Coors. It didn’t even burn anymore. It didn’t even taste. He barely felt it. Which was good because every thought made him feel like he was being tortured. Like he was being impaled with broken glass. Slowly. Methodically. By the stupid, scheming hand of Kreese.

He didn’t know what time it was. What day it was. All he knew was that he was far away from the action. The noise that came with complete and total failure. He knew he had to be somewhere in Reseda though, because last time it got dark, he’d heard gunshots close by. And, of course, the alley he was in had that Reseda flair. The smell that came with the place.

He was home.

But he also wasn’t.

And that was just the way he wanted it.

Because he didn’t have a car. He didn’t have a phone. He didn’t have the key to his front door. But it didn’t matter. Because every single one of those things reminded him of the kid he foolishly let into his life. A kid whose life would forever be fucked up because of him. Because he was one of the shittiest pieces of human debris to ever walk this earth.

He couldn’t go home. Not without his keys. But he didn’t want to anyway. Carmen’s bloodcurdling scream would haunt him for weeks and months to come. He couldn’t go home when she was next door. When she was next door and Miguel wasn’t.

He failed the one person who believed in him when no one else would. The one person who believed in him no matter how many stupid mistakes he made or how many times he fucked the easiest shit up. He failed the one person who always came back. The one person who always knew what it meant to forgive.

He failed.

It was the very thing he was afraid of doing from the beginning.

But it was also the very thing he was destined to do. If Sid was to be believed. And he hated to think it, but the more time passed, the more things went on and on and on, he began to feel the guy was right. Because maybe he’d been a failure his whole life, but he’d just been too damn prideful to let himself give in to the truth.

And would Diaz—would the kid even pull through? Would he even get the privilege to know if he made it or not? Because Carmen wouldn’t call him, that was for sure.

And even if she did, it wasn’t like he could answer anyway.

It was then that the regret surged again. It was then that it felt the strongest. Because his phone had been his last lifeline. And now it was gone. And now he was scared shitless because that voicemail was the last thing he had.

It was the last memory.

And he might never get to hear the kid’s voice again.

He took another long drink, finishing off the bottle and lazily throwing it at the wall on the other side of the alley. He watched it shatter. He watched the pieces fall to the ground and crumble into even smaller, tinier pieces.

And he supposed, it felt a little bit like him. Taking hit after hit after hit, the referee of life not letting him have a time out. Not letting him take a break or forfeit the fight. Not giving a single fuck about him.

His head was spinning, and he didn’t know how to process anything anymore. It was all too much. Because first he was hit with what happened to Diaz, and then he was hit with _how_ it happened.

And that was something he definitely didn’t want to think about. Because it hurt more than anything else. Anything else he had ever experienced in his life. 

Because that hurt was Robby. His son. The kid he’d failed since day one. Since February 4th, 2002.

The school said he did it. _Robby_. Robby did it. He just—how was he supposed to process that? How? It put so much more weight on his failure. So much more weight on his shoulders. And if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t find a way to fix all of this shit, he knew he would break. Shatter into a million, tiny little pieces.

But the cynical part of him knew there was no fixing. No coming back from a mess this fucked up. Not really.

Because he had not only failed Miguel and all the students at Cobra Kai, but he had failed his son too. His flesh and blood. He had failed him for the second time over. But it wasn’t really the second time, and he knew it too. It was just the culmination, the climax, of failure after failure after failure.

The failure to be a dad.

He hadn’t tried hard enough. He hadn’t made enough effort to show Robby he cared. To bring him back into his life. He hadn’t been persistent enough. And even though LaRusso had been standing in the way, had been sticking his stupid little Italian mitts into his family problems, he should have just sucked it up and forced his way into the kid’s life.

He shouldn’t have been a fucking pussy. Wasn’t that what he was always telling his students to avoid? To rise above?

He felt like a hypocrite. Like a washed out, dried up piece of dog shit.

He failed at being a father, a mentor and a teacher all in one.

But the most disappointing part was that he was not surprised with himself. Not in the slightest. Because his life so far had been characterized by failure after failure after failure. It wasn’t out of the ordinary. It wasn’t atypical.

It was the definition of Johnny Lawrence.

He should have expected this. He should have anticipated everything going to shit the way it always did. Because things were going so good…too good. And when things were like that…well…they never managed to stay that way.

Not for him.

And after opening another bottle of Coors and chugging the whole thing at once, he finally fell into the dreamless abyss of unconsciousness.

He finally won in the only way he knew how to win.

\--

Time blended together. He didn’t know how long it had been. All he knew was his booze and the sketchy alley he had woken up in moments ago. No one had come to look for him, and he was happy to keep it that way. He didn’t deserve anyone’s pity or kindness when he had failed the one person he promised never to fail.

He blinked back the haze as he sluggishly sat up and looked around. It was light out now, and he had no idea what day it was. He knew he needed to find that concerning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he felt like he deserved it.

Actually, he knew he deserved it. That was the scary part.

He needed to get his shit together and find out what happened since he left the hospital. Because he didn’t know how long it had been which meant he didn’t even know if Miguel was still alive.

Wrapping his jacket around himself to suppress a shudder, Johnny tried to force himself not to think that way. He couldn’t think that way…even if it was the truth.

And Robby…he had no clue what happened to the kid after fleeing the scene.

_Fuck._ Why did he run? That was such a stupid, pussy move. And it was going to cause problems. Lots and lots of legal problems.

But it was also probably what he would have done if he had almost killed LaRusso after fighting over Ali.

He needed to find out what happened to his kid. Because he needed to be there for him this time. He couldn’t let him slip through his fingers again. He had to make things right between them or he didn’t think he’d ever be able to live with himself again.

His head spun violently as he gripped the wall of the alley and pushed himself to a stand. He was more drunk than he’d first thought. It was probably a good thing he’d ditched the car, because he wasn’t confident in his driving abilities at the moment.

And Johnny belatedly realized that said _a lot_. Because he’d driven drunk plenty of times and been fine, but this time felt different. It felt like he went over the edge. Past his high tolerance. He wondered how many bottles he drank, and how much money he spent.

He wandered out of the alley and onto the street. He didn’t really know where he was going, but he knew he needed to find some food for his hangover. The sun was beating down on him. Shining far too brightly for it to be morning or late evening. He wished he’d kept his watch, knowing it would be useful at a time like this. But Diaz had convinced him he didn’t need it anymore if he had a smartphone. And for some stupid-ass reason, he listened to the kid when he probably shouldn’t have. Because watches were reliable, simple, and basic. Everything these twenty-first century gadgets were not.

Somehow, he made it to a convenience store. It was something he realized when he found himself staring down at the beer on the bottom shelf of an industrial fridge. A pang of shame went through him at that. Because that’s how pathetic he was. His body carried him on autopilot to the closest fucking Coors beer he could buy.

But he wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t going to buy it. Because he needed to find out what happened to Robby. He needed to find out if Miguel was….

Turning around and making his way toward the shop exit, he was met with a familiar face blocking his way.

“LaRusso?” He slurred.

“Oh, thank God, Johnny! I’ve been looking all over for you!” LaRusso said, sounding far too concerned for his own good. “I thought something happened. I thought…”

“Well, whatever you thought, you should keep it to yourself. I’ve got places to go. Things to see.” Johnny said, feeling himself drift sideways as he tried to stumble past LaRusso.

“Whoa, whoa, Johnny! Let me drive, okay?” LaRusso said, grabbing his shoulders and tipping him back upright. “You shouldn’t be behind the wheel like this.”

Johnny wanted to laugh at that statement. He’d driven drunk plenty of times, and besides, he didn’t even have his car. “Get out of my way, _Danielle_. I’ve got a lot going on, I don’t have time to argue with you.” He said, shouldering past the idiot in front of him.

“Look, Johnny. We can argue or we can have a serious conversation here. It’s important, okay? I need to talk to you both as Robby’s father and Miguel’s teacher. Please, man.”

Johnny froze at that. Part of him wanted to turn around and face LaRusso, but the cowardly part of him wanted to keep his back turned and walk away. He didn’t need LaRusso’s bullshit on top of everything else. He didn’t need to be lectured on how terrible of a parent he was and how terrible of a teacher he was. Not from _that guy_.

“Just—if nothing else, give me your phone number so I can contact you when you are in a better spot, okay?” LaRusso pestered, clearly not getting the hint.

“I don’t have my phone, man.”

“You don’t have it? What happened?”

“Threw it into the ocean.” Johnny mumbled. 

It was LaRusso’s turn to shove past him so he could turn around and face him. “Why would you do that?”

Johnny scoffed. “Why do you think? I lost everything, man. _Everything._ I’m angry. My kid almost killed my protégé—and I don’t even know if he’s still alive because Carmen won’t let me see him—my students don’t trust me anymore, and that fucking pussy Kreese took over my dojo. I don’t even have a fucking job anymore!”

LaRusso looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Whoa, wait. I thought you said you kicked Kreese out?”

“I did.” Johnny said, grinding his teeth. “But that bastard went behind my back and put the lease under his name when I had to go out of town for a funeral. I should have seen it. I should have known he would pull something like this.”

LaRusso looked like he was restraining himself. Like he was barely holding his fury inside. “Okay. Okay. We’ll talk about that, because it _needs_ to be talked about, but we really need to have a conversation about the kids. Why don’t I drive you back to your place and we can talk there, okay?”

Johnny let out a deep sigh. “I don’t have my keys either.”

“What?!” LaRusso looked shocked. “Johnny, why?”

“Miguel—he lives next door. And Carmen said she never wanted to see me again. I just…I need to stay away from them. It’s better if I don’t show.”

“Avoidance isn’t the answer, man. You gotta go back there.” LaRusso said, his Jersey accent coming out all of a sudden. “And I don’t think she’ll be mad at you forever.”

Johnny really wanted to yell at LaRusso in that moment. Because he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the hospital waiting room when Carmen looked at him with pure hatred and fury in her eyes. When she told him she never wanted to see him again. When she shattered the last bit of hope he had left inside of him.

Because his life never worked out. Everything always got fucked up. It was just a matter of time. It was always a matter of time.

Letting out a deep sigh, Johnny decided to concede to LaRusso’s demands. Because he didn’t have any fight left in him anymore. “Fine. But we’re gonna have to pick the lock.”

“Maybe.” LaRusso said. “Or we could just bust down the door. I do have a little experience with that.”

Johnny scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“C’mon, lets get in the car.”

\--

The first few minutes of the drive were spent in pure, tense silence. It was awkward and cold. Johnny didn’t know what to do besides let his thoughts churn over and over in his mind. He didn’t know what else to do besides wallow in his misery.

Because he felt like he was going straight into the lion’s den.

He had to break the tension. He had to get LaRusso to talk. Because he still didn’t know why the guy appeared out of nowhere.

“Why were you looking for me?” He asked bluntly when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Don’t you have your own problems to deal with?”

LaRusso briefly glanced over at him before turning his eyes back to the road. “My daughter is distraught over Miguel. She wants to help pay for his medical care, so I need to get in touch with Carmen.”

That surprised Johnny. A lot. It was probably the last thing he expected to come out of LaRusso’s mouth. Because wasn’t his daughter the one to break it off with Diaz? And even though Miguel had never talked to him about it explicitly, he could tell the kid had been devastated over the breakup.

He also felt a little ashamed that thoughts of hospital bills hadn’t crossed his mind yet. Because there really was no way for Carmen to pay for all that medical care and he knew it. He knew it because he lived in the same shitty apartment complex as she did.

“I’m glad you want to help them.” He finally said, voice low, not looking at LaRusso. “They won’t be able to afford it and you know I can’t help.”

“It was Sam’s idea. She’s a good kid.”

And maybe that’s where Johnny had got it all wrong. Maybe they were all good kids, no matter what side they ended up on. Maybe everyone was a casualty of the differences between him and LaRusso. Maybe both of them had been trying to do what was right in their own ways. Too different and too much the same to find common ground.

All Johnny knew was that this feud between them had to end. It had to end because it was destroying everything. He knew it without a shadow of a doubt, even with the booze still churning through his system, making him feel like he was floating. Making it hard to think straight.

He didn’t want to fight LaRusso anymore. He just wanted to put this mess behind him and fix his mistakes. Because they had bigger fish to fry. Because Kreese took over his dojo. Because his kid was God knows where and Diaz was on the verge of death.

And as his thoughts circled back to his greatest failure, he finally asked LaRusso what was on his mind from the beginning. “Do you know anything about the kid?” He ground out, looking out the window as the world flew past him.

He didn’t have the courage to look at LaRusso’s face.

“Which one?”

Johnny didn’t know the answer to that question right away. Those two words were so loaded, so full and so heavy. Because they carried a weight bigger than any weight he’d carried before. Because both Robby and Miguel represented his failure as a father, a teacher and a human being. They were both his responsibility, and he failed both of them.

“Both.” Johnny said, letting out a sigh so frustrated and deep that it surprised even himself. “But um… since Carmen kicked me out, I don’t even know if Miguel is still—”

A thick silence overtook the car as he trailed off, only broken by the sound of tires on pavement and honking in the distance.

“I think we would have heard if that had been the case.” LaRusso finally said, voice low and vulnerable in a way he’d never heard before. 

“And Robby?” Johnny choked out.

It was LaRusso’s turn to look uncomfortable. “You know he tried to flee the scene, right? I think the cops told Carmen?”

“Yeah.” Johnny was holding his breath. 

“Well…they apprehended him a few blocks away from the school. They got ahold of us—me and Amanda—got ahold of his mom too.” LaRusso shook his head. He looked like he was about to cry. “He’s going to juvie, Johnny.”

And maybe he thought there would be more to it than that, maybe he thought LaRusso would tell him some big story. But that was it. That was it and the world around him turned back to silence. Johnny felt numb. Felt cold. But it wasn’t because of shock or surprise, it was because he finally learned to care about his kid at the last second.

And it was a second too late.

Did the police even try to contact him? Or was he that far gone? Was he written off the books too long ago for anyone to notice he cared? Instead they called his addict ex and a guy he bullied in high school. Because he was such a pathetic, wangless, pussy. A loser.

It was those words that made him stop his train of thought. It was the words Kreese called him over and over again for years—for decades—that made him pause everything. Because how could he help his kid if he couldn’t even stop calling himself things that were degrading and meaningless?

It had to stop right now. He had to end the hypocrisy before he became just like the lunatic that Kreese was. It was the only way to fix things with Robby. It was the only way to earn Carmen’s forgiveness. It was the only way to teach Miguel what was right.

He had to fix this mess because his life depended on it.

Because the lives of every single kid who stepped foot in Cobra Kai depended on it.

Because Robby and Miguel depended on it.

\--

The familiar crunch of tires on gravel brought him back to the present, and as he looked around, he realized they arrived at the apartment complex. A pit of dread formed in his stomach at that. He really didn’t want to be back here. He’d even take Daniel’s stupid house and his stupid whiny kid over looking at the Diaz’s door, afraid they would confront him at any time. Afraid they would chew him out again.

Even though he deserved it.

“Alright, Johnny. Here we are.” LaRusso said, opening his door and getting out of the car, Johnny following suit. “After we get the door open, why don’t you lie down and get some sleep. We need to talk about a lot of things, but they’d be better discussed tomorrow when you aren’t so hung over.”

“Okay.” Johnny found himself agreeing, feeling too numb to put up any sort of fight.

LaRusso reached the door first, deciding to go with the direct approach of simply trying the handle. But Johnny knew, even before anything happened that it wouldn’t be. LaRusso was too naïve. Because in this area, you had to keep your shit locked up. It didn’t stop the crazies, but at least it deterred the faint of heart.

When that proved fruitless, LaRusso turned to him. “Do you think a front kick would work?”

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to even smile at Daniel’s attempt at humor. “We can check and see if any of the windows are open.” He answered, already knowing none of them would be.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do that.”

But just as they were about to go around the side of the building, Johnny heard a door open and close. Heard the rattle of a keychain. And as he turned around, he found himself face to face with Rosa Diaz. Miguel’s grandma.

For some reason, he hadn’t expected anyone to be home. He assumed they’d all be at the hospital. Waiting. Waiting for good news. Waiting for a miracle to fall down from the heavens they somehow had enough courage to believe in.

It took him a moment to realize Rosa was looking at him oddly. Her eyes held too much emotion and the creases in her wrinkles seemed deeper. And suddenly Johnny wished it was dark out, wished the sun wasn’t shining on her face. Because then he wouldn’t have to see the broken woman in front of him. He wouldn’t have to see her wholly and completely.

“ _¿Estás bien, Johnny?_ ” She asked.

He had no clue what she said, but he knew she understood English because Carmen had let him in on that little secret months ago. Apparently, she was just too self-conscious to try and speak it.

“Um…just trying to get inside. I lost my keys.” He wasn’t about to admit to her that he disposed of them in a fit of rage and hopelessness.

Rosa sighed and began to rummage through her purse. “ _¿Por qué no viniste a mí en primer lugar?_ ”

Johnny glanced over at LaRusso and the man seemed to be just as lost as he was. And without Carmen around, Rosa was completely content to mutter under her breath as much as she wanted.

Johnny wanted to give up and go try the windows. He couldn’t even communicate with this lady, so he didn’t think walking away as she muttered to herself would cause that much damage to his already broken relationship with the Diaz family.

But just as he was about to turn away, Rosa grabbed his hand, pressing something small and cold into his palm. He looked down, finding the spare key he’d given Miguel months ago. Because it was a way to tell the kid he cared about him like his own son, a way to tell him that his stuff was their stuff. A way to tell him he was welcome at any time, even if he wasn’t there.

And somehow, he’d completely forgotten about it.

He was suddenly filled with an indescribable emotion, a longing for the past, a longing for the return of a trust that had been broken, a longing for a life that was halfway normal.

Johnny looked up a Rosa again, wishing he hadn’t. Because she didn’t look like a grieving grandparent, and she didn’t look angry. It was just pity. Pity for him, for the situation, and probably for Miguel.

He felt like the worst person in the world.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

It was all he could say. Because no words he could speak would dish out justice. Nothing he could say would fix the situation in front of him.

And that was why it felt empty. Empty, meaningless platitudes.

“ _Lo sé_ _, Johnny._ ” Rosa said, grasping both of his hands in hers and looking into his eyes. There was a broken-looking smile on her face, and her eyes shown with an intensity he had never seen before.

He had to fight the urge to look away.

Because he felt like she could see his soul. 

_“Lo sé.”_

And as she turned away, as she got in her car and pulled out of the complex—presumably to go to the hospital—Johnny knew it didn’t matter that he couldn’t understand the words she said.

Because the look in her eyes told him everything.

Told him that at least one person had forgiven him.

And that was enough.

Enough to go on for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m purposely leaving the ending of this fic open and ambiguous because we obviously don’t know what will happen in season three yet…I basically wrote this because I needed some catharsis after that heartbreaking finale. :/
> 
> Now, if season three has some big time jump and Miguel is recovered or something, then I’ll probably be back to write some more stuff in this fandom because I absolutely *hate* it when shows/movies/books etc. skip recovery. GIVE ME THE RECOVERY OR GIVE ME DEATH!!!!  
> \--  
> If you enjoyed this, I would love to hear from you. Comments feed the author. :) <3


End file.
